


Impasse

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:46:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7160588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even when you try to take yourself out of the drama, words can create drama of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impasse

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/Content: Language, banter, angst.

“Eee.”  
  
Harry snorted at Ron's glee. He couldn't blame him exactly, because the hot tub was tickling his skin in exactly the same way.  
  
“Okay, so the Muggles have got this right,” Ron said with a happy sigh, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.  
“Told you.”  
“You did.”  
  
Harry sipped at his Champagne and smiled to himself, looking at Ron's exposed throat and steam-dampened hair.  
  
“I'm drunk,” Ron said conversationally. “So pissed, Harry.”  
“I know. But I'm here. And I love you.”  
“I love you more than I love this hot tub.”  
“Christ, you love me a lot, then.”  
  
He smiled as Ron's mouth widened into a grin.  
  
It felt like a long time since they had been properly alone together. What with work, families and constant interruptions, they rarely seemed to get ten minutes to enjoy each other's company.  
  
Harry was very glad he'd put his foot down and taken Ron away from it all.  
  
Ron snorted and Harry looked at him. “What?”  
“Your glasses are steaming up.”  
“Bollocks.” Harry pulled them off his face and tossed them onto the decking that the jacuzzi was set in.  
  
He also put down his Champagne and floated across the bubbly water to crouch in front of Ron.  
  
“Not today, I'm busy, thank you.” Ron groaned as he rested his head on the side.  
  
Harry took a moment to appreciate him. All freckles and pale skin. Two day stubble on his chin and throat. Lines on his face, some from laughter, some from weariness. A smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth left over from pudding.  
  
Since they'd arrived, he'd barely been able to keep his hands off Ron. It was hard when he sat there looking like _that_ , and Harry wasted no further time by sitting himself on Ron's knees. The water came up to his belly on doing so and, as he settled, he fought off shivers as the cold night stung his exposed skin.  
  
Ron opened his eyes and looked at him, before grabbing Harry's thighs and holding him in place as he slid off the seat and took them both down to where the water came up to their chins. Harry locked his ankles behind Ron's back.  
  
The kiss they shared was lazy and gentle. They'd had their fair share of rutting and desperation the day before on arrival – but they'd passed that; they just wanted to enjoy one another.  
  
Ron kissed the tip of his nose. “That's better. Couldn't have the Boy Who Lived kicking the bucket from a chill.” He rolled his eyes.  
“You know, after all these years, it hurts that you can't say that without a teeny bit of scorn in your voice.”  
  
Ron's eyes widened. “What?”  
“I just... every time you say it, you make me sound like some privileged arsehole who's had everything handed to him on a plate.”  
  
Harry immediately wished he'd not said anything. Ron looked somewhat crushed.  
  
“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “Harry.. you know I'd never hurt you on purpose? And I'm trying hard, so fucking hard, not to hurt you by mistake, either...” Ron shook his head. “I know I'm an insensitive dickhead with the emotional range of a teaspoon. I've known that since I was a teenager. I'm working on it. I'm trying to be better.”  
  
Perhaps it was the bottle they'd shared, but Harry was alarmed to hear emotion building in Ron's voice and see his eyes grow watery.  
  
“Hey...” he reached up and brushed Ron's fringe away from his eyes. “Stop it.”  
“But-”  
“ _Sometimes_ , you are a dickhead with the emotional range of a teaspoon.” Harry went on quickly as Ron opened his mouth to retaliate. “But most of the time, you're amazing. And I don't need you to be 'better' for me, you're plenty good enough as it is.”  
  
Ron could have been all of fifteen years old sitting there, blushing hard and looking like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.  
  
“I don't think you're a privileged arsehole.”  
“I think it hurts so much because I know I am.”  
“How can you say that? You had such a shit start to life.”  
“I know. But that was _years_ ago now. And I could have so easily gone off the rails. What if Dumbledore had never turned up? They would have sent me to the local comprehensive... maybe I would have made something of myself, maybe I would have gone the other way and been found shooting up under the railway bridge by the time I was fifteen.”  
  
Ron kept quiet.  
  
“But he did turn up, and I got everything I wanted except for my parents back. We fought a war, I nearly died-”  
“Technically you did die – then you came back.”  
“Regardless, that was all pretty shit but then it ended and my life really began. Where I had loads of money, the best friends anyone could ask for, a good job, a lot of love in my life from different places... and then... we... did what we did and we're...”  
“Together.”  
  
Harry nodded and tightened his grip with his thighs.  
  
“Sometimes, I do feel privileged. I didn't have to interview for the job which has built my career. I'm the fucking head of the Auror Department, Ron. If there was ever a case for privilege...”  
“Yeah, and you just waltzed in there and sat at the big old mahogany desk without having any experience.” Ron shook his head in disagreement. “Everything you have at work, you earned.”  
“You think I didn't see your face the day they announced it? I saw you, Ron. That look on your face... it took me right back to being fourteen and having my name pulled out of that fucking Goblet.”  
“Everyone gets jealous, Harry. Even if it's just for a second. People forget themselves. They forget how they really feel for just a moment of jealousy. You've done it, I know you have! When you pick up one of the kids and you kiss their hair – you think I don't see the jealousy then?”  
  
Caught off guard, it was Harry's turn to blush and look away. He hadn't known that Ron had noticed how he felt about their nieces and nephews. How he wished he had children of his own. Ron pulled him close and kissed his cheek.  
  
“We're human, Harry. We're not perfect. Fuck knows I'm not perfect.”  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
As Ron embraced him properly, Harry tucked his face against the redhead's throat. A large hand came up to cup the base of his skull and massage his scalp.  
  
“We really know how to have a fun evening, eh?” Ron murmured softly.  
“Mm.” Harry squished Ron tighter in his arms. “I'm sorry.”  
“Don't be.”  
  
They both fell silent then. Harry wondered if Ron was listening to the sounds of the bubbles and feeling as lulled into sleep as he was. The Champagne probably wasn't helping matters.  
  
***  
  
The next thing Harry knew, sunlight was streaming down into his face and he was wrapped in a duvet. He held his breath, trying to sense where Ron was and if he was awake. He wasn't hard to miss, though – he'd always snored like a foghorn.  
  
A dull ache started up behind his eyes. He'd had a lot to drink since they'd arrived.  
  
“Shit!” He flew upright in the bed and leant over to grab his watch from the bedside table. “Shit! Ron, we're going to miss the fucking Portkey!”  
  
A muffled groan was all that came from Ron and Harry staggered slightly as he jumped out of bed. The room was spinning.  
  
“Why am I such a fucking lightweight?” He moaned and pressed his fingertips into his eyes. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”  
  
He stared around at the floor, looking for some clothes – any clothes – to put on.  
  
“Ron, get up. We have to be back in London by midday or your mother will string us up by our goolies!”  
“S'fine,” Ron slurred. “She'll understand.”  
“Get up!” Harry begged.  
“Nope. Shan't.”  
  
In his hungover state, Harry found he wasn't up for contending with Ron's stubborn side.  
  
“Get the fuck up!” he barked, seizing hold of the duvet and yanking it clean off his boyfriend's body.  
  
Stark naked but lying face down, Ron didn't move, but Harry could hear him swearing under his breath.  
  
“Get up.”  
“Why d'you care so much about going back to London?” Ron cried, lifting his head up a little to speak clearly. “I thought you didn't want to go to lunch with everyone anyway?”  
  
Harry admitted that Ron had him there. He didn't want to go to lunch when he could spend more time with Ron alone in their little Scandinavian sanctuary.  
  
With a sigh, he pulled the duvet clean off the bed, wrapped it around his shoulders and then fell face-first back into the mattress next to Ron.  
  
“Atta boy, Harry.” Ron patted him lazily on the back. “Give me some of that duvet, fuckhead.”  
“You were snoring like a pneumatic drill again. I'm taking you to a fucking sleep clinic.”  
“You can sodding try.”  
“I'll drag you. Just once it'd be nice to wake up hungover and not have your bloody snoring drilling into my brain.”  
“You talked in your sleep all night long. Shouted. Something about somebody breaking your neck?”  
“Probably you being a twat.”  
  
Ron grunted, either in assent or annoyance – Harry couldn't tell.  
  
“My head hurts.” Ron let out a whimper. “Why did you let me drink all that?”  
“Why did you let _me?”_  
“Not my fault you're a lightweight.”  
“Or mine that you're an alcoholic.”  
“Fuck you.”  
“Mm, yes please.” Harry rolled over then and landed half over Ron's back.  
  
He rolled his hips and pressed his crotch into Ron's side.  
  
“With the best will in the world, Harry, you're not getting hangover sex. I'm fucking shattered. And fucked in general.”  
  
Harry gave a tut of impatience.  
  
“I need food. And coffee. Especially if we're going back for this sodding lunch,” Ron said.  
“What d'you think would happen if we just stayed here? Didn't go?”  
“Want to find out?”  
  
“Fuck yes.”  
  
-fin-


End file.
